


Last Days

by trashwithasideofart (KN478)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dorian finds out about the anchor, Lavellan is dying, M/M, Not sure how to tag yet, Spoilers, Trespasser DLC, Trespasser Spoilers, anchor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 00:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KN478/pseuds/trashwithasideofart
Summary: “I’m dying, Dorian. The Anchor is killing me, my arm is already beyond saving. At this rate I won’t live to see the end of the Council…”In which, the Inquisitor finally tells Dorian the truth.





	Last Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece I've posted in about two years, I was too nervous to post it on tumblr so I'm starting here.  
> The Inquisitor is my mage Lavellan, Enansal "Lavellan" Vahl and this is my take on how it may go with telling Dorian about the anchor. I've written many different ways this could go, and I liked this version the most.

The eerie green glow of the Anchor reminded Enansal of the Breach. The green light, the stretching, spiraling veins, the painful flashes of lightning. The primary difference was the putrid yellow pus from the broken scabs lining outside of the cracks, the flesh burnt on the edge, the smell able to penetrate through the first few layers of gauze and elfroot he wrapped it in, the herb doing nothing to dampen the suffering the Anchor left him in, his entire arm consumed. He was going to die, he was going to die, and he was terrified. 

The night reigned the sky, frozen wind biting against his skin as he watched dark clouds glide across the the moon, darkening the world around him. Distantly, he heard footsteps approach his room, boots clicking against the marble floor of the halls. How was he supposed to tell him? The heavy wooden door to his room opened behind him, followed soon by the voice of none other than Dorian Pavus. “As expected, they put our dearest Inquisitor in one of their best rooms. Honestly, you would think an ambassador would have something better than the old room repurposed from a closet that someone probably died in.” 

A huff of laughter escaped from Enansal’s lips as he stood up straight, bringing his right hand to hold onto the left of his cape. “Should I be expecting said ambassador to be staying in my room?” He turned around, smirking at his human lover, beginning to cross the room.

“Perish the thought,” Dorian met him halfway, placing his hands on the elf’s waist, “How could I pass up the opportunity to be the next victim of that accursed room?” He trailed one hand up to cup Enansal’s cheek.

Leaning into the touch, the ends of Enansal’s lips curved up into a soft, vulnerable smile. “I’m sure I could think of something to keep you here instead.” He bit back the gasp that threatened to escape as the mark cracked more of his already broken skin.

The smile Dorian gave him was worth the effort, he had to tell him soon, but the longer he didn’t know, the more time they could spend in blissful ignorance, even if just for precious seconds. “You had something you needed to tell me? I must say, it must be quite the secret for you to call me to your room… or did you want something else?”

Smile almost faltering, Enansal shook his head. “I did have something to talk to you about, believe it or not.” After all those times of leading him away under the guise of needing to talk, those times spent just enjoying each other’s company, he finally meant it. Brushing the thought off, Enansal gestured to the settee opposite the dim fireplace, “Take a seat.”

Without a word, Dorian did, perhaps believing this to be a simple chat, to catch up after the forever and a day they had spent apart from each other with nothing but letters to communicate. Enansal took a seat beside him, beginning to feel nauseous. It stirred in his stomach, the taste of salt deep-seated in the back of his throat, he could barely hold his composure through the waves of anguish as he tried to find his voice. “Well, I probably should have brought this up sooner, but I wasn’t sure how…” He paused for a moment, eyes flickering to and from Dorian. “It’s the Anchor, it’s, well…” The words were trapped in his throat, they choked him, he couldn’t get them out.

“Fading? That definitely wouldn’t be good, seeing as there’s still the occasional rift, though I’m sure there’s something that could be done about that,” Dorian was quick in his attempt to coax the answer out, “Or getting stronger? Are you going to be levelling cities anytime soon? Come, amatus, you can’t leave me in suspense!”

“Closer to the latter, I suppose, it’s… spreading,” Though Enansal’s words weren’t quite what Dorian seemed to have expected, it didn’t seem as though he was too surprised.

Gaze dropped to Enansal’s gloved left hand, Dorian spoke slowly, “Hmm, yes, I suppose that was a thing, Solas had stopped that originally, correct? With healing magic? I’m sure we can find the right spell and get that fixed up.”

The smile that came to Enansal’s face was sad, broken, the composure he had been trying to sell was dripping away, cracking piece by piece. “If only, I’ve tried everything I could think of, and…” He momentarily dropped his gaze, when he lifted it once more, Dorian could see clear apprehension in his eyes, “I’m dying, Dorian. The Anchor is killing me, my arm is already beyond saving. At this rate I won’t live to see the end of the Council…”

Dread. Pure, unadulterated dread colored Dorian’s face as he took in all that Enansal had said. “There has to be something, something that can be done. I have to be able to do something.” Enansal only shook his head as Dorian spoke. “This can’t be… let me see.”

“Huh?”

“Let me see it, the anchor, your arm. Please, amatus.” With a plea like that, how could he refuse?

Slowly, Enansal began to undo the clasps keeping his glove in place before gently pulling it off, as to not aggravate the skin beneath. The layers of gauze beneath made it particularly difficult, catching on the material above. Dorian waited.

With the glove off, laid uselessly on his lap, he undid the chains holding his cape, allowing it- and his shoulder pads- to fall to the cushions below. He began to unbutton his coat after, fingers slipping and fumbling out of fear, nervousness caused him to shake. Still, Dorian waited, silent.

Once he had slid his coat off, he was left with his outwear, the left sleeve cut off to ensure the bandages had some amount of room, or at least more than he would have had if he hadn’t removed it. Enansal hesitated before he began to unravel the bandages, a barely visible green glow showed the brighter veins beneath. Dorian still waited.

Each layer that came off released a putrid smell, one Dorian, as a necromancer, knew all too well. The elfroot did wonders to cover the smell, without it, the air around them filled with the scent of death, becoming stuffier and stuffier, difficult to breathe in. Yet still, Dorian did not comment.

Finally, the last of the bandage slipped off, Enansal’s grotesque arm on full display, as revolting as he remembered it. Blood began to drip from the open wounds, caking his forearm, and staining his coat. Dorian still did not comment, reaching out to touch the skin, immediately recoiling when Enansal hissed in pain, the simple brush of Dorian’s fingers lighting a white hot fire under his skin. “See? What did I tell you?” He half-joked as Dorian gazed intently at his arm, “Lost.”

Dorian only shook his head, almost reaching out again but catching himself before he could. “I can do something about this, I know I can. I just don’t know what…” The tone of his voice broke Enansal’s heart.

“Dorian, darling, ma’lath, the Anchor is of magic thousands of years old. I doubt we will find anything even in the libraries of the Crossroads,” Enansal’s words were spoken as both comforting and final, “Ir abelas, ma vhenan. I am to die, there is nothing that can be done.”

“I knew you would break my heart, you bloody dastard!”

“Ar lath ma, sa’vunin.”

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATION:  
> Amatus - Darling  
> Ar lath ma - I love you  
> Sa'vunin - One more day  
> Ma'lath - My love  
> Ir abelas, ma vhenan - I am filled with sorrow for your loss, my heart.


End file.
